* 04 – BBQ *
3rd July 2010
Harry had done more than insist. He had asked, cajoled, pleaded, wheedled, coerced then finally outright demanded. The Golden Trio would get together for his thirtieth birthday. No excuses. No complaints. They would be bloody adults about this and eat damned cake together.
He had started negotiations at the beginning of the year, allying with peacemakers Neville and Hannah to get what he wanted. Mostly. There were some necessary compromises.
Ron refused to 'rub Ginny's nose in it' by going to Grimmauld Place where his little sister had been replaced. Hermione refused to attend without Marcus, as both her friends' wives were going to be there. Ron pushed for something Muggle, expecting the Slytherins to object.
Then the press caught wind of the birthday plans, and suddenly any Weasley attending any Potter party was tantamount to treason in Molly Weasley's eyes.
It was Jennifer Weasley who came up with a suitable middle ground for everyone; her parents' house. Bara-Hack, Connecticut was a wizarding town so there would be no problem with accidental magic from the children. And her mom had been nagging her to come home for Independence Day ever since she had married an Englishman.
The Randalls would be delighted to host their daughters' friends for a festive barbecue, and they would be well away from any prying reporters. Harry heartily endorsed the American witch's earnest request that they join her for the weekend, leaving Ron and Hermione no option but to agree.
The Flints, the Longbottoms and the Potters arranged to take Portkeys at their convenience on Saturday afternoon, to arrive at the charming inn in Bara-Hack on Saturday morning. Rather than inundate the Randalls with house-guests, the English wizards and witches had opted to book a whole wing of the sprawling country house.
Marcus paid for their accommodations, saying publicly to Harry that it was a birthday present. He said privately to Hermione that if Ron made the visit awkward, they could camp out at the inn and eat themselves sick on maple pancakes. As much as she wanted the get-together to go well, Hermione put the odds on the all-day breakfast.
When the Flints arrived at the Laurel Inn, Marcus was carrying Livia. The five year old would have protested that she was big enough to stand by herself but Portkey travel made her woozy. Hermione carried Septimus because the almost-three year old had no sense of self-preservation.
They paused to get their bearings on the gravel lot edged by the inn's namesake trees. It led off from the drive, giving arriving guests a discreet place to land whether by Portkey or broom. Marcus had his Nimbus across his back as professional brooms did not respond well to shrinking.
"Don't say it." Hermione knew what was coming and shot her husband a look over their son's chestnut hair. He had been trying to convince her to allow him to buy Septimus a training broom for his third birthday. Livia had asked for and received one as a fifth birthday present, along with red shoes and a butterfly terrarium.
"I do not need to say it. You are already thinking it." Marcus bent to kiss his diminutive wife without mentioning how suitable the inn grounds would be for training flights. Their son was big for his age and restless. Hermione was all for 'structured physical activity' to promote 'coordination and confidence' and all that other rot from parenting manuals. Just not on a broom.
"Think something else." The witch instructed acerbically as she headed towards the front doors. Marcus's quiet chuckle and his deliberately slow pace told Hermione what was now occupying his thoughts. She was wearing an old sundress that was a little snug. She'd picked it for their journey in case of Portkey sickness in the kids. Her husband liked the dress because it showed off the curve of her arse.
The innkeeper, Jack Higginbotham, greeted them at the front desk with handshakes and an easy-going smile. They were the first to arrive so Hermione could indulge her need to check on things without anyone rolling their eyes. The suites were ready, the cake would be delivered tomorrow and the staff had been briefed on her privacy concerns.
"I want Harry to have a good time. His twenty-fifth birthday was a circus. Witch Weekly paid someone to transfigure themselves into a streetlight to watch people visiting his flat." Hermione frowned, recalling running the gauntlet with a newborn. Security concerns were one of the reasons why Harry had moved back into Grimmauld Place despite the echoes of his first marriage.
"We'll keep an eye out for anybody skulking, Mrs Flint." Jack assured. He had done a little checking up on his guests. It wasn't everyday that someone booked a wing of his inn, and paid long weekend prices for a single night stay. "We like to keep everything relaxed. We're one of the oldest wizarding towns on the eastern seaboard, so we know all about keeping quiet here."
Quiet was accurate. After being shown to their rooms and settling Livia and Septimus for a restorative nap, the Flints sat on their private deck. Hermione had brought a few books to read but had promised Harry she would leave her thesis at home. Marcus stretched out on the wrought iron bench and stared at the sky.
"Zavier Higgs agreed to have an MRI." Hermione remarked, guessing her husband was worrying again. He was taking his shift seriously. When Livia had turned five he had almost convinced himself she was safe, that they wouldn't lose her, but their daughter's continued sensitivity to magic niggled at him.
"The magnet in the tube?" Marcus had been paying attention when his wife had explained all the tests she had arranged. As a graduate student, she had access to a variety of incomprehensible Muggle machines.
"That's the one. I hope to get a representative sample of the magical population. Livia's sensitivity is almost the opposite of what Squibs experience. There might be structural differences I can chart." Hermione sat back in her deck chair and flicked through a textbook until she found the picture she wanted.
She showed it to him. A beautiful image; rainbow colours on what looked like a bouquet of feathers. Marcus stared at the gracile wisps, struck again by the precision of the motionless printed image.
He and Hermione had gone to a photography exhibition at Madam Shafiq's insistence. The wizard had not realised how moving static black and white photos could be. They had bought one of the works; an oak tree in a storm. Hermione had enthused about fractals but he had seen strength.
"It's a Diffusion MRI." She explained when he handed back the book. "Fine detail. I'm not sure how much difference between magical and Muggle I will be able to see but it's a start."
"Livia said the machine beeped at her all the time." He had stayed home with Septimus, trusting his wife to know how to soothe their daughter at the clinic far better than he could. Even the coffee machines were different now, leaving him with no clue how anything did what it did. And Livia liked knowing that sort of thing. He didn't want to seem an idiot to his little girl.
"It was supposed to." Hermione hesitated, but Marcus preferred to face down his problems. "You can have one, if you'd like. It'd help me eliminate any congenital structural differences."
"You simply cannot sweet-talk, can you?" He turned his head to smirk at her. "Darling husband, please oblige me by allowing your doting wife to insert you in an eldritch contraption. Now that would convince me."
"You get the same deal Livia got. You can have an ice cream after. With sprinkles." She smirked back then leant forward and kissed him softly. "It's safe, and it's perfectly normal to be nervous."
"I believe I said the same thing when I tried to get you on a broom." Marcus caught a curl of hair escaping from her bun and twisted it around his index finger, tugging her gently closer so he could return the kiss with interest.
"I only ride one thing, darling husband." Hermione teased. "If you want that to be your Nimbus, that's your loss."
Marcus was still chuckling about her bon mot when they were interrupted by the arrival of the Potters. Harry, Millicent and baby James look much better rested than the last time Hermione had seen them. The newest Potter was teething and there was only so much charms could do to relieve his discomfort without knocking him out.
"Frozen gel teething rings are brilliant." Harry said in greeting, hugging Hermione. He had managed six hours solid sleep before his son had started grumbling. It was a great morning. "One cooling charm and he's chomping away all day."
"I fed Livia chilled vegetable puree. If he can manage a sippy cup, cold water helps too." The mother-of-two was well on-pace with child-friendly solutions to a peaceful life. "Though she always spat up the peas."
"Jamie's still on mum for drinks. He just knocks the cup over then splashes his hands in the mess." Millicent had read every baby book her friends recommended, slipping into Muggle London like she was buying contraband. Her stepmother's advice to 'let the elves do it' had been ignored.
"Sticking charms." Marcus, the primary care-giver for the Flint children, had a great deal of practice with that charm. He could manage a wandless Scourgify too.
"Already got them on the cupboards." Harry nodded as the group headed into the inn. The Auror never would have expected to be sharing childcare tips with a Slytherin, far less the former team Captain, but Flint knew his baby-wrangling.
Jake Higginbotham was low-key with the Potters, who responded well to the lack of fussing. They were told about the in-house child-minding service and given the phone number of the local Healer. The American wizarding community had embraced Muggle telecommunications as owls regularly refused to fly in the worst winter conditions.
Millicent went to their suite to feed James in private while Marcus checked on the children. Both Slytherins sensed when to tactfully absent themselves.
"Thanks for doing this." Harry said quietly, aware their serpentine spouses had left to facilitate this conversation.
"I will try my best, and my best is very good." Hermione patted him on the arm and suppressed a smirk. She had picked up the habit from her husband. "But honestly, I think this weekend is going to be awkward."
"I know." He had to admit that he didn't have high hopes. But if he had looked into the Mirror of Erised right now, it would have shown him the Golden Trio best friends again. "Jenny's worried about him. She says he doesn't talk to her much about his school days. Even if they're just mulling over where to send their kids, he clams up."
"Neville mentioned that too. Ron never goes to any of the commemorations." She had missed him at the tenth anniversary celebrations. The press had commented on that so extensively and invasively that Marcus had cancelled their subscription to the Prophet to 'keep the drivel' away from his family.
"Something's bothering him." Harry was saddened that he couldn't tell what was on Ron's mind. There had been a time when they'd been so close they'd almost been telepathic. It was tempting to blame Ginny for the rift but he knew the fault rested equally between him and Ron.
"I wouldn't know. I've spoken to him more in the past year organising your party than I have in the last ten." Hermione tried not to sound as aggrieved as she felt.
"That's down to your husband." It'd taken him a long time to look at Marcus Flint and not see the teenage bully he'd known at Hogwarts.
"No, it isn't." The denial was fast and firm, Madam Flint in her best Wizengamot voice. "Marcus has been nothing but good to me. We're happy. I could've ended things better with Ron but that's down to me."
"Merlin, you sound like McGonagall." The two witches had different accents but the echo of their Professor was so crisp in Hermione's tone that Harry grinned. "Did she really make him wait in the hallway for a day?"
"Not the whole day." This time, Hermione did smirk. "Quite a few hours, though. Him, and a whole contingent of Slytherins in dress robes. A first year asked how long they'd been in detention."
"I just want the three of us friends again." Harry confessed quietly in the aftermath of their shared amusement. "It's important."
"What's important?" Neville had heard the tail end of the emotive declaration. There was a minuscule moment of exclusion, just a flash of suspicion from Harry and Hermione at the interruption. But Neville was alone, and Neville was absolutely trusted.
"Making up with Ron." Hermione answered, giving her friend and cousin-in-law a welcoming hug.
"We're all on it." Neville asserted, reciprocating the hug before sharing one with Harry. "Hannah and the kids will be in shortly. Alice and Frank are bit queasy after the hop."
"Livia's the same way. She's having a lie down. We'll probably do something light for lunch." Their plans for Saturday had been nebulous other than getting the kids settled before a big day of fireworks and excitement on the 4th.
"Hannah's keen to try the chowder. Apparently that's the New England speciality" Neville had travelled a bit on specimen collecting trips but never to North America. "I'm happy to give any seafood a go, so long as it doesn't have tentacles."
"Marinated octopus is quite nice, actually." Harry opined. The Potters and the Flints sneaked into Muggle London often to enjoy a quiet dinner and Greek cuisine was a favourite. Though, from Neville's expression, he was not convinced.
Once the children had recovered from the Portkey and everyone was feeling peckish, they phoned the Randalls to consult on activities. Richard and Constance, hoping to introduce their daughter's English guests to American culture, invited them to a Quodpot game.
A very awkward Quodpot game.
Getting to the stadium was not difficult, even with eight children under eight. Like the telephone, most American magical folk also had a driver's license. Or at least passing competence with a motor vehicle and a willingness to Obliviate any Police Officers who pulled them over.
Rich, Conny and Jenny drove two minivans and a sedan to an empty lot beside a seemingly derelict gas station. The stadium appeared once they deposited their tickets in an old vending machine. Decorated boldly in red, white and blue, the building was mostly bleachers and concession stands. And people.
First stop was the line-up for the snack vendors then the climb to their seats. Marcus took point, parting the crowd with strategic elbows and determination. As the tallest of the group and the most ruthless, he got to their section of the stands then stood as signpost for the stragglers.
Hermione levitated the food while Hannah levitated the drinks, hoisting the hot dogs and fizz out of reach of the boisterous fans. The two teams were in the minor league but they were playing hard and whenever a quaffle exploded, the fans surged to their feet.
Harry and Jenny herded the children with Millicent in the middle and Neville bringing up the rear in case someone got separated. Rich, who had got them the complimentary corporate tickets for a sold-out game, had been button-holed by one of the team owners and had waved them on.
The seats were shaded and comfortable, well positioned for a good view of the action but it also put them in plain sight of the whole crowd.
Harry slunk low in his chair and tried to pretend he wasn't uncomfortable. Millicent had to put a deafening charm on James, who cried at the noise. Hermione and Hannah managed to distribute lunch but the children were so over-excited more of the meal was spilled than eaten. And Marcus and Ron said not a damn thing through the entire game.
Conny and Jenny tried to germinate an amiable atmosphere however their repeated attempts failed to sprout. Everyone was willing but distracted or in the case of the wizards reluctant to comment lest they provoke an argument.
Fabian Weasley, a fan of the Bara-Hack Knockers, got into a loud dispute with Frank Longbottom over whether Quodpot or Quidditch was better. The seven year olds were quelled by their parents but sulked for the rest of the game. The Knockers lost to the Dudleytown Scriveners, and everyone was guiltily relieved to leave.
After they were dropped off at the Laurel Inn, the Flints, Potters and Longbottoms collectively decided to have an early night. While the Inn did not customarily offer room service, Jack Higginbotham was happy to provide an impromptu dishes-to-deck arrangement. Hermione privately thought him sensible for keeping five tired and grumpy children away from the other diners. Everyone was in bed by nine.
